


Bullets for Blood

by Devilbaby



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Alternate Scene, Game of Shadows, Gunkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:46:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilbaby/pseuds/Devilbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moran, Holmes, and a gun. Alternate scene for Game of Shadows. What if Moran was feeling playful when he confronted Holmes in the munitions factory?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullets for Blood

Holmes can talk himself out many a narrow scrape, can weave distractions out words like a spider with silk. 

But Moran has the gun cocked before he gets more than a sentence out and fast as his tongue might be, a bullet is even faster. He freezes, hands up, and stays absolutely still. To move is to bleed, and Holmes is going to need every drop.

Not that he's worried Moran will kill him; not yet anyway. But he _will_ shoot him, if he feels like it. If Holmes gives him a reason to and maybe even if he doesn't (the Colonel is casual with his bullets). Holmes takes a moment to observe the sharpshooter from beneath lowered eyes. Hard and cold as the weapon by which he lives, sharp and deadly and Holmes must watch himself around this one, because he isn't stupid either.

Dangerous. That's what Moran is. A vicious and cunning dog; the Cerberus standing guard outside the gates of hell and Holmes _must_ get past him. He has an appointment with the devil.

The detective licks his bottom lip and Moran's eyes waver, even if the gun doesn't. Holmes wagers the orders were only that Moran take him alive, not that he necessarily be kept in one piece and that, that complicates things. Moran is still angry with him over that business with the train and Holmes cannot afford to pay the Colonel his pound of flesh. He'll never survive what is to come if he does.

But he has other things to barter with.

Holmes worries his lip between his teeth, keeps his eyes on the gun and is rewarded with a near imperceptible tightening of Moran's fingers. It's a reassuring sign, but hardly conclusive; there's still violence in the Colonel's eyes. Holmes waits on a razor's edge, hardly daring to breathe. 

Blood or dignity? He can spare only one of them tonight, but is unsure which Moran wants more.

The answer comes when the man takes a step forward and presses the gun firmly between his teeth, filling his mouth with the bitter, metallic tang of metal and gun oil. He pushes down and Holmes sinks slowly to his knees, eyes never leaving the Colonel's own. Moran says nothing, there is no need. He's had long practice in dealing with reticent geniuses; he knows his intentions are understood.

Holmes darts his tongue out, running it over cold steel before wrapping his lips around the barrel and beginning to suck. Moran breathes in, body going ridged and from this vantage point it's impossible to miss the more obvious signs of his arousal.

The Colonel's breath quickens and he pushes the gun farther into Holmes' mouth, eyes bright and piercing and filled with malevolent triumph and it's all Holmes can do not to choke on it, not to jerk his head away because Moran's finger is still on the trigger, and all it would take is the slightest pressure, the smallest of gestures and London's greatest mind will be splattered all over a weapon's factory in Germany. 

He holds still instead, mouth working, cheeks hollowing around the steel cylinder shoved against the back of his throat and thinks that really, it's not the worst thing he's done for a case. Or at least it won't be for long. It's not exactly a happy thought but it's a sobering one, and helps ground him as he gets on with the necessary business of getting the Colonel off.

Ten minutes later and Holmes is a dead weight supported between two bodies as they drag him from the room toward the surgery, the chloroform having rendered him insensible.


End file.
